


Now and Then

by stringingwords



Category: Ocean's 8
Genre: F/F, Flashbacks, Gratuitous Smut, Short, loubbie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-31 23:57:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15130571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stringingwords/pseuds/stringingwords
Summary: Flashbacks of Lou and Debbie's relationship before the movie. Some gaps filled in and a short extension.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in love with these characters and just wanted to prolong the feeling. This is unplanned and unpolished, sorry if it's a bit rough. While I'd planned to make it a one-shot I've decided to divide it into two. Next part will be posted sometime this week.

**Then**

 

‘Got what you went for?’

Debbie smiles at the low drawl coming from the doorway. Turning, she brandishes her loot—a vintage Patek Philippe, impossible to resell. 

Lou smirks, leans her hip casually against the table.

‘You know he didn’t stand a chance when you showed up in that.’ She waves her chopsticks at the outfit, a dark evening gown that clings in all the right places. ‘I thought you liked a challenge.’

Debbie shrugs, pulling off the short, bleach-blonde wig. ‘Challenge will be getting in and out of the estate without being seen. Next weekend still work for you?’

Lou hums affirmatively, mouth full of the sushi she’s chosen for tonight’s 2 am snack.

‘I’m starving’

Too lazy to riffle through the takeout bag for the second pair of chopsticks, she moves to stand next to Lou who obligingly feeds her the roll she’s picked up.

‘Mmh, you do know how to pick ‘em.’

‘New York. Anything, anytime,’ Lou delivers in a perfect TV ad voice. She watches Debbit eat, smirk teasing her lips. ‘I still think your biggest con is never paying for your own food.’

Debbie shrugs, taking the chopsticks from her and helping herself to more. ‘It’d be foolish of me not to use you for your talents.’

She doesn’t point out that Lou’s ordered for two. Nor that her hastily-tied kimono seems to have been chosen to match the food. 

They eat in silence, watching the lights flicker outside their two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.

‘D’you think it’ll work?’ Lou asks, eyeing the timepiece.

‘It should. His fingerprint to the back pops out the key.’ She nods towards the whisky glass on the table. ‘I’ll have it ready by Friday.’

Lou smiles. ‘This’ll work.’

\-------

It does. Smoothly. 

That is, if the skid marks left as they speed away on Lou’s bike can be considered smooth.

Debbie thinks so, half sure her roommate did it on purpose to keep the adrenaline high going long after the heist.

She watches her now, sprawled on their small sofa with the glass of 25-year-old Glenlivit she made them stop for. Debbie was all too happy to oblige. $77,000 and a two-million-dollar watch weren’t bad for a week’s work.

‘You’re brilliant, you know.’

Debbie scoffs dismissively.

‘You are. And you’re getting better. One day we’re gonna do a job for the annals of criminology.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’

They do, and keep drinking until the bottle’s empty and they’re wrapped in its hazy glow. They sit comfortably close, Lou’s leg casually pressed against Debbie’s as she taps her fingers to Cherry Bomb.

‘We should get a new place, bigger. Something old, none of that hipster, painted-to-look vintage crap. And I’m keeping my bike in the living room.’

Debbie smiles. She likes this Lou, relaxed and particular in her tastes. Likes that she’s the only one to see it.

‘Louise Elizabeth Miller, if you think I’ll ever approve of using greasy vehicles as interior decor you don’t know me at all.’

‘Oh I know you,’ she replies unruffled, ‘but I can be very convincing.’

The smirk is patented Lou—amused, suggestive, challenging. But her eyes are soft in the lamplight.

‘If you think you can just smile at me and I’ll turn to mush like one of your conquests you’ve grossly overestimated your charm.’

Lou laughs, shaking her head.

They settle back into silence. Except now, she feels the weight of Lou’s leg more acutely, skin tingling where they’re pressed together. She finds herself studying the godlike features Lou wears so coolly, wonders then if she’d spoken true. What would she do if that charm was turned on her with intent to seduce? 

The thought sends an unbidden shiver through her. She watches the fingers still drumming against the armrest. Fingers that have casually touched her a million times over their 9-year friendship. Touched, yes, but never _touched_. 

Lou stills, dark eyes flicking up to meet her gaze. There’s a glimmer in her eyes, something new. Or perhaps it’s always been there.

She moves then, leaning up to draw level with Debbie. The air between them shifts, grows charged, heavy with promise. Is it all just in her mind? 

Debbie, sighs, shakes her head slightly to dislodge the unsolicited thoughts before they can settle. Whisky’s never been her drink.

But Lou’s hand moves, a light finger trailing the length of her calf. Her eyes follow it, up and down and up again. It would be nothing, a casual touch, except it’s the only thing that moves. Their bodies are suspended, coiled, riding on the movement of one delicate finger. 

Debbie looks up, finds the pale blue eyes drinking her in. There’s no ambiguity now. She’s never seen them so unguarded. Hungry. They dip to her lips and back, askance. 

Panic grips her. She pats the intrusive hand shakily, forces the tremor from her words.

‘Right, partner. I’m off to bed. See you tomorrow.’

‘Not before noon,’ she replies slouching back, voice as nonchalant as ever.

 

**Now**

 

She doesn’t call her. Not when she receives her fully charged phone (thank you, Dina) and steps into the street in the same dress she’d worn that fateful night five years ago. She doesn’t feel awe or relief or joy at being out. She feels determined. Her life was interrupted, it’s time to catch up. 

_Lou._

_Not yet._

She’s not herself yet. It takes a trip to the mall, a bath, and a night on a firm, itch-free mattress before she pulls out her phone and calls up Lou’s contact again. 

_I’m out. When can I see you?_

No. Too needy. They don’t do needy, even if it’s been five years.

_Going to the cemetery, could use a lift._

Then she realizes she doesn’t know where it is. After searching for a few minutes she deletes the message and taps out the third and final draft.

_Where is the fcking cemetery? 12pm?_

Short. Presumptuous. Them.

She hits send.

A ripple of apprehension then. But no, she’ll show up. Lou always shows up.

Well, she always did. 

\------

She smiles at the vintage Toyota, not quite nostalgic, but happy Lou’s held onto it, as if she’s held onto the memories they’ve built inside it. It wasn’t their heist car. They always kept it clean so they’d have something safe to drive around in when things got a little hot. 

She’s barely in her seat when Lou’s in her space, arms around her, lips pressed to her hair. 

‘Hey, take it easy. Been in the slammer.’

She has, but that isn’t why she needs space. It’s just too much Lou after a terribly long dry spell; the press of her arms, the casual kiss to her head, her smell. Five years without it. Okay, a little more for someone who’s been counting. She wants to sink into it, lose herself in the familiarity. Funny how you miss things the most when you finally get them back. This is her safe space. More than that. Lou is always more. She’d forgotten how much. 

Lou leans back, makes light of her comment in true Lou fashion. 

She looks good. Crisp dark shirt open to reveal her trademark necklaces. Her hair’s different. Bangs a little longer falling across her eyes, joining the mascara in perpetuating an air of mystery. Aloof. Enticing. The face Lou Miller shows the world.

But her eyes are not aloof now. Her pose may be casual, tone light, but Debbie feels her eyes on her as she speaks, silently probing, assessing, an act Debbie would usually deem invasive. 

It’s comforting now. Being known by Lou has always been comforting. 

As is the banter. She’d worried things would be weird, that they’d have to hash out what happened years ago. Lou seems content to focus on the future and she’s more than willing to follow her lead.

\------- 

She smiles as she walks into Lou’s place. It’s Lou through and through, classy, unique, with a touch of bizarre. She likes it immediately. She smirks at the motorcycle in the corner, remembering Lou’s promise and swearing she’ll die before admitting she likes it. 

‘There’s a room for you upstairs.’ Lou putters about, rearranging the mail. ‘Your stuff’s upstairs too. I borrowed some of your clothes as you weren’t using them.’

And just like that, she’s home.

\-------

She returns that evening to find Lou in a white cat mask setting out the takeout. Remembers she occasionally liked scaring the delivery boys, though they were all more in love with her than anything else. 

‘I like this one.’

‘Mmh, got it for a job a few years ago. Mark had a fetish for Japanese cats and so everyone wore them for his party. Almost too easy. D’you still insist on eating takeout in a plate?’

There’s a pang at the thought of Lou out here doing heists without her. With others. She pushes it down. Lost time be damned.

‘Do you still eat out of the boxes like a barbarian?’

Lou shrugs, finds her a plate and sits across her with the boxes of Chinese. 

She tells her about her encounter with Claude.

‘Why would you do something like that?’

‘Closure?’

‘Bullshit.’ 

She looks away as she says it so Debbie can’t read her eyes. A smile. But something in her tone tells her her eyes aren’t smiling, an undercurrent that says more than _I know you_. A hint of pain perhaps. Just because they aren’t talking about the past doesn’t mean they aren’t thinking about it. 

 

**Then**

 

Lou’s late coming back, well no later than usual. She’s been to visit one of the clubs she’s thinking of going into business with and Debbie declined to join her. It’d been a long day. 

She hears the front door close and the murmur of voices. Not alone then. Someone like Lou is only ever alone by choice. 

She pushes her door closed. The walls are thick enough and Lou is usually considerate. 

Tonight is no exception and she hears nothing but the other door click shut. 

Still she can’t sleep. She thinks of the low voice, husky in whisper as she tries not to wake her. What does she say to them? She imagines they simper, bend over backwards to keep her eyes on them, kill for an approving smirk. As Lou’s friend she knows what it’s liked to be bathed in her attentions, how much more addicting if they are lavished on you for your pleasure?

She shifts uncomfortably. It’s too hot. November it may be, but far too hot.

She sighs, pressing her eyes closed, willing away the images of the other night.

They hadn't talked about it. Why would they? Nothing had changed. A bit too much whisky and victory euphoria and a quasi faux pas.

Why had she panicked? Goddess knows she enjoyed sex with women. She and Tammy had casually slept together on and off during college and their trysts included some of the best orgasms of her life. And Lou, oh there was no doubt Lou would be up to standards and beyond. 

Maybe that was it. Lou’s more. They work together like no duo she’s ever seen. She was scared of risking that, which is why she’d fled. And rightly so. Feelings ruined everything.

\-------

Except the feelings are still there. Annoyance, mostly. Seems Lou’s decided to keep this catch around. She’s there for breakfast, raving about Lou’s eggs and playing a game of not-so-subtle footsie under the table. She’s there two days later, awestruck as Lou pontificates on some new discovery in neuroscience. And again on Sunday, Lou says she’ll be out for the day, taking Zoey for a ride upstate.

_Zoey._

She is pretty enough. All bright, eager eyes and striking features. And she plainly adores Lou. They make a handsome couple, tall and confident, Lou’s too-pale complexion offset by her rich, dark skin. 

Debbie hates it. 

They still work well together. Lou’s there when she needs her and their jobs go off without a hitch. But Debbie’s irked by the newcomer’s presence, or the hint of her presence. She’s shorter with Lou, brusque. Lou shrugs it off, tells her to cool down, release the stress. They fight more.

Sometimes it’s still just the two of them, drinking martinis and listening to a new record on repeat, and it’s almost the same. Almost. Nostalgically close. It grates. Having Lou, but not really. She still looks at her the same, still teases and smirks and listens to her plans. But then her phone chimes and Zoey clamors for her attention. She doesn’t rush off, but she still goes, donning a killer outfit and sauntering out the door with a casual. 

Then along comes Claude. Smooth Claude Becker with a foot in the art world and an eye for cons. It’s something to do, going to galleries, finding marks, sleeping somewhere that doesn’t share a wall with Lou’s pleasure chamber. It’s not the same as working with Lou but it’s something and the annoyance is numbed.

 

**Now**

 

She hears her coming, boots crunching confidently in the gravel, stride unmistakable. It’s more determined than casual now. Something’s up.

‘Hey, we need to talk.’

_Ah, there it is, she knows._

‘Claude Becker.’ She spits the name like it can’t get out of her mouth fast enough.

She’s close, personal space be damned. No plans to back down then. 

‘You do not run a job in a job.’

‘It’s not going to matter,’ Debbie sighs back.

Except of course it does. It matters a hell of a lot to send the man who ruined her life back to jail. But it won’t cost them the prize.

Lou paces, bristling and annoyed. Even her anger is stately as she reminds her what happened last time she tangled with Claude Becker.

‘You frame him I walk,’ she surmises simply.

Here at last, and five years overdue: me or him? The question she couldn't bring herself to ask then. What if she had? 

 

**Then**

 

‘Nice to see you still eat.’

Lou sips her drink, watching her dig into her tomato and burrata salad. 

‘Claude’s actually a great cook.’ 

Lou rolls her eyes at the name. ‘When are you coming home?’

‘Dropping by after lunch, actually, I need a dress for tonight.’

‘What’s tonight?’

‘Remember the heist I told you about? He wants me to pose as the seller this time instead of just finding a mark.’

‘You’re kidding. You haven’t said yes, have you?’

‘I have. It’s an easy job. Double the prize.’ _No feelings._

‘And triple the risk, hell twenty times the risk. You don’t know the man.’

It’s Debbie’s turn to roll her eyes. ‘He wouldn’t dare con me.’

Lou raises a pointed eyebrow. _How do you know?_

She likes it, Lou’s possessiveness. She also doesn’t mind reveling a little, dragging it out, sharing some of the annoyance that’s plagued her the last few months. 

‘Don’t do it, Debs.’ Her voice is low now, urging. ‘Come home, we’ll cook something up. You like being master of your own heists anyways.’

Debbie smiles, shakes her head. ‘I can do this.’

Lou's nod is defeated. She offers a sad smile.

‘You can do anything, honey.’

 

**Now**

 

‘Lou, Lou,’ Debbie rushes forward, grips her arm.

 _Him or her._ There’s no question, there never was, not even then. But she needs this.

‘He sent me to jail. You have no idea what that’s like.’ She’s bordering on pleading, doesn’t care. She needs Lou with her on this one. 

Lou takes it in, searches her face. She looks away, swallows. Debbie knows she’s won.

‘Yeah, well, he’s gonna do it again.’

It’s as close to ‘Ride or die’ as Lou will get, but it means the same. She’s got her back. Always. 

Her body tingles with relief. She can’t help smiling.

‘No he’s not. He’s not!’ 

Lou sighs. Just like that they’re on the same page again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got a little carried away and had to rate it M. Sorry, not sorry, I guess.

**Now**

 

There’s a knock on her door that evening. Lou enters without waiting for an answer.

‘Here.’

She holds out a leather folder. Debbie takes it curiously. Inside are pictures, receipts, locations, all meticulously catalogued and dated. Claude features in most of them.

‘What’s this?’

‘Everything I have on Claude. Enough to put him away for at least 10 years.’

Debbie looks up, confused.

‘You didn’t think I’d just let him walk away after what he did to you, did you? I only waited cause I thought you’d want to do it yourself.’

She pauses, lets Debbie pore over the evidence she’s spent the better part of five years gathering. 

‘We don’t have to do it in the job.’

Debbie looks up at her. A laugh catches in her throat, elation at the sweet rush of power thrumming through her.

Lou’s eyes sparkle at her reaction.

She grows serious again. ‘You know we still need to do it in the job.’

Lou raises an eyebrow. ‘Do we?’

‘Mm-hmm. This is justice. I need vengeance.’

An eyeroll at the histrionics.

‘We need a scapegoat anyways,’ Debbie argues. ‘Get them off our backs. Two birds, a hundred million dollar stone.’

Lou smirks but still looks unconvinced. 

Debbie returns her eyes to the folder, silently examining Lou’s concise scrawls. 

‘I need this,’ she says at last. ‘I need him to sit behind bars knowing it was me, knowing he’s rotting in there for something I did while I enjoy the spoils. He needs to feel it every day without being able to do a thing about it.’

Lou searches her face, nods. She needs him to suffer too.

 

**Then**

 

She feels an odd tremor at the sound of the buzzer. Two weeks inside. Gathering information, forming alliances, making her way to the higher rungs of the food chain. It hasn’t been all bad. It’s cramped and foul, bodies everywhere you look, guards with unfulfilled dreams and puny power complexes. But that just added a few more elements to the puzzle and Debbie Ocean was more than content with the added challenge. 

But a visitor meant a glimpse of the outside, the world that was going on without her, all freedom and glamour and takeout. She shook her head to dislodge the person those words conjured, not wanting to feel what the pleading eyes and low voice stirred in her. 

_Come home._

She hadn’t. Now she couldn’t. 

She straightened her spine and stepped forward. Weakness got you trampled. 

A lawyer probably. Or Reuben bearing a message from her family. The Oceans didn’t come to prison unless they had to. 

But no. 

Flung across a chair, slouched in boredom, sits Lou. Debbie bites her lip. 

She wants to see her, smiles involuntarily at the jaunty spread of leather-clad limbs. For a moment she pictures her rising, handing her helmet like she’s done so many times, asking if she wants coast or fields. She feels a flare of rage at the ache, the reminder of her loss. Just like that she doesn’t want to see her, doesn’t want to hear how her life is powering ahead without her. 

She forces her feet forward anyways.

Blue eyes flick up to watch her approach. A smile, slow and sincere, tugs at her lips. 

‘Orange really isn’t your color.’

‘Perhaps you could write to the governor, have them change it to something you find more appealing.’

‘I might have to if I’m forced to look at you in that for five years.’

Her tone is light, teasing, but her gaze is heavy, like a doctor sussing out a reticent patient. Debbie hates it. 

They fall silent. Debbie awaiting the ‘I told you so.’ Lou apparently unwilling to play her predefined role. She speaks at last.

‘I could punch his nose through his skull.’

‘Please do.’ Debbie grins despite herself. ‘There’s plenty of company in here but you’d be a slight improvement.’

She raises a suggestive eyebrow at the innuendo. ‘Only slight? I might not bother, then.’

The air warms between them. Lou isn’t here to gloat. But she’s still here. 

‘What do you need?’

Down to business then. 

‘Cigarettes, lingerie, decent tampons, chocolate.’ A pause. ‘A phone if you can get me one. And tweezers.’

Lou smirks. ‘Would you like a dressing gown and bedroom slippers with that?’

Debbie considers thoughtfully, ‘Not in your decadent style. I have an image to preserve.’

Lou leans back at the jab, eyes sparkling with mirth. 

‘You have a line on the kitchen?’

‘Yes. Wednesdays.’

She nods. 

‘Don’t come too often. I don’t want to draw too much attention to you.’

Lou hesitates, a flash of something in her eyes. Confusion? Pain? Protest? 

The children at next table begin fighting over the last MnM as their mother swallows a lump in her throat. 

Lou’s lips thin in determination. She nods.

The guard announces the end of the visit. 

They stand. Debbie isn’t sure whether to move for a hug or settle on a wave, not with the distance her last request brought. Lou steps forward and folds her into her, pressing them flush together. Her lips move close to her ear. A breath. Debbie waits for the words. They don’t come.

A guard orders them apart and Lou steps back quickly.

‘Be safe, Ocean.’

She bites her lip, watches through watery eyes as Lou saunters back out into the world. 

When Wednesday rolls around the package arrives. Three brands of cigarettes. Tampons and chocolate enough to buy out even towering, brutish Simmons. Nestled at the bottom, pressed flat by the other goods are two velvet, fur-lined slippers complete with a gold buckle. She sobs out a laugh. Appreciates that at least Lou had the decency to steal them from Gucci. There’s a Nokia stuffed inside one and a charger in the other. She turns it on. 

‘Hello, JLBRD.’

 

**Now**

 

Debbie walks down the steps, forcing her feet into measured, elegant steps. She feels the evening air shimmer around her, camera flashes glinting off jewels and bedazzled gowns. They catch the diamonds on her bracelet, light refracting every which way. She smiles at their weight, catches a glimpse of Nine Ball turning the corner ahead, dazzling in her evening gown. They’re on the home stretch now. 

She stops at the crossing, checks her watch. 

_20 seconds late._

It’s unlike Lou. 

Then she sees her strutting out from behind a food truck, resplendent in 8-inch heels and a glittering, over-the-top playsuit. She feels a slow smile tug at her lips as Lou crosses towards her. She adjust the neckline rakishly, tilts her chin up.

_Message received._

Debbie’s smile widens. She turns and walks slowly, waits for her to draw level. 

‘I don’t recall an outfit change in the plan.’

‘Well, one doesn’t wear a bike jacket when escorting a German duchess, however fashionable the jacket might be.’

The grin stays, pulls at her lips as she takes Lou’s arm.

‘Ever gallant, Miller.’

They walk in silence, hips brushing together, the thrill of victory dancing between them. The near the parking lot.

‘I’m afraid, my lady, we’re fresh out of chariots tonight. Would a catering truck do?’

‘Catering’ rolls of her tongue, smooth and sensual, flutters in Debbie’s stomach.

‘Vell, I suppose if you cannot be doing better. But I vill not be recommending jour services to my friends.’

The accent earns her a grin. ‘That’s quite alright, your Grace. My services are highly exclusive.’

Debbie doesn’t turn to see the cocked eyebrow, knows it’s there all the same. 

‘Everyone out?’

‘Far as I can tell.’

They reach the truck, Lou kicking off her heels to drive barefoot. She revs the engine, pulls sagely into the evening traffic, just another truck involved in sustaining the elite’s festivities. Debbie glances towards the back, glimpsing the cart in the dark. 

‘What do they feel like?’

‘200 horsepower throbbing between my legs.’

She snorts.

\-------

One by one they arrive at Lou’s, faces cautiously joyous, smiles widening when they see the others already there. They pour drinks, swap records, speak of outlandish plans and purchases. 

Lou looks up, catches Debbie’s eye as she glides down the stairs, all neck and collarbones in a loose white button-down. She fixes her with a look, eyes dancing with expectation. Debbie wrinkles her nose, bewildered by what reaction is expected. Then spies the album cover in her hand: Curtis Mayfield. She smiles as the first beats of Superfly fill the room, jiggles her shoulders playfully to the beat. Their victory song had never felt so deserved. 

‘Nice moves.’

‘You’d think so.’

She bumps her hip. They look over at their crew, faces sparkling with triumph. It’s a good day.

\-------

The night wears on as the women bask, feeding off their shared euphoria. Champagne, spirits, laughter, pizza and noodles and ice cream no one remembers ordering. Nine Ball and Rose start dancing. Tammy awkwardly joining in with moves she hasn’t used since college. They print dirty statues with the leftover zirconium. Constance teaches Daphne some basic slight-of-hand. No one leaves. Leaving means the day is over and who would willingly end a day like today?

Eventually Lou stretches, peels her lanky form from the couch. She glances at Debbie who’s listening to Amita’s verbose emancipation proclamation with an amused smile. She slips from the upstairs, leaving them to their antics. 

Her room is dark, cool in the pre-dawn mist. She walks to the window and looks out where the water should be, only a few ripples visible in the moonlight. She tugs at her burgundy jacket, loosens the first button with a sigh. Sleep will be hard tonight with a mind humming with possibilities.

‘Is that one of the clothes you borrowed?’

Debbie’s voice is relaxed, thick with alcohol. She leans on the door frame, arms crossed, watching. 

‘No, I’m pretty sure this one is mine.’

She shakes her head. ‘October 4th, 2010. I took it straight off the mannequin while you charmed the sales clerk to blindness.’

Lou smiles at the memory. ‘Well there you go. That makes it at least half mine.’

Debbie pushes off the frame, steps into the room. 

‘Mmh,’ she agrees, ‘but seeing as you’ve had it to yourself for the last five years I’ve come to take it back.’

Another step and she’s in front of her, fingers brushing against the disputed fabric at her stomach. Lou inhales, unmoving. 

‘Couldn’t you just buy another one with your 38 million 300 thousand dollars?’

‘I could,’ she replies coolly, ‘but you know I always prefer taking things.’

She’s close now, inches away, voice dropped to a whisper. 

Lou watches her, breath shallow so as not to disrupt the air between them. Her eyes dip to her lips once, then quickly back up. 

‘You do.’ Voice silky, barely there.

Debbie moves then, brushes her lips against hers, tastes champagne and cherry. Lou brushes back, chasing the feather-light contact, but not pushing. Waiting. Hands light on her waist. She takes a breath of her air. Then Debbie increases the pressure and she presses back, hard and hungry, snagging her bottom lip. A whimper and she parts her lips. Lou’s tongue flicks inside, gently. Hands gripping now, betraying her desire. Debbie tilts her head, wanting, taking, fingers tangling in the jacket she’d come to reclaim. 

Then Lou’s hands are covering hers and she’s pulling back, receding out of the kiss. Debbie’s eyes fly open, senses protesting the loss of contact. Lou’s eyes remain shut. She sucks in breath, steadying herself to speak. Her voice is soft when she does, hesitant.

‘You sure?’

Her eyes open, dart across Debbie’s face, looking for something beyond chemistry and the high of victory. Lou Miller, epicurean to a fault, pulls herself back from the woman she craves. She’s done alright without this. Last time they got this close there were also spoils and drinks. Last time she ran from her and in running was at the mercy of the man who betrayed her.

The longing wells in her, quivering, pressing out against her ribs. But the dam is strong against it, built up over years of friendship. Better that then…

‘I’m sure.’

Her voice is steady, pulls Lou from her spiral.

‘I’ve been sure for years.’

Lou surges then, hand cupping the back of her neck. The kiss is different now, urgent and full, want rumbling through her chest, lighting something in Debbie. She kisses her like it’s all she’s ever craved, like every word and look and touch were steps in an intricate dance leading them inevitably here. 

Her lips find her neck, hungry and possessive, tongue tracing the hollow behind her ear, mapping her senses until she shivers. She bites her there, a little harder than intended. Debbie clamps her lips together, only half containing the moan. 

They freeze, listening for a change downstairs. The door stands half open, sounds of celebration still wafting up. When they continue uninterrupted the women breathe out a joint sigh of relief.

‘I don’t remember you being so loud,’ Lou whispers reprovingly.

‘Well, your mouth should come with a disclaimer.’

‘Oh, you have no idea, baby.’

Debbie smirks. Lou seems all swagger as she backs away and kicks the door shut, but her eyes are soft, shining in the glow of the lamp. 

Her kisses are gentler now, first her lips, then trailing down her jaw, her collarbone. Her hands come up, fiddle with the buttons, undoing them in swift, practiced movements as kisses pepper her chest. Debbie reaches down, pops open the last button on her blazer, sliding her hands up along her skin to push it off her shoulders. Lou lets out a little noise, annoyed by the movement that tugs at her arms, forcing them from Debbie’s body. She shrugs it off quickly, and Debbie’s not surprised to find her naked underneath, nothing but the silk scarf fluttering between her breasts. Her hands return to glide up Debbie’s ribs, scratch down her stomach, pulling little sighs of pleasure where she does. 

Her mouth moves lower, kissing down her stomach, trailing patterns over her goosebumps. She’s on one knee now, nose pressed to her skin. She sucks a kiss just beside her hipbone and Debbie’s fingers find her hair. She feels her body leap and flutter and keen under Lou’s touch, pulsing with life and powerless with need all at once. It’s intoxicating. 

She presses her head back against the wall. Lou’s fingers have made short work of her pants, sliding them down her legs. Her hands flutter along her calves, up her thighs as she kisses a line down from her belly button. She bites her slip, tugging mischievously until Debbie meets her eyes. She holds her gaze as she moves lower, nose nudging the fabric that is already wet and clinging with want. She brushes her nose up, finds the nub of her clit. A smile. Then she tugs it into her mouth, tongue flicking against the fabric. Debbie bites her hand, breathing hard as her hips jut to meet her. Lou hums, sucks again, harder. Debbie fists her hair, then uses her grip to lead Lou slowly away, backing her body against the cold wall.

Lou’s dark eyes flicker up, questioning.

‘I’ve waited far too long for this to have you eat me out against a wall like some prison hook-up.’

Lou smirks, raises an eyebrow that says they’ll definitely revisit that story another time. She gives her thigh one last nip before rising to find her lips again. She sighs into the kiss, as if she’d missed her lips while exploring her body. Debbie shivers when her tongue swipes into her mouth again, thinking of where it’s been, what it’ll feel like. A fresh wave of desire soaks her underwear.

She pushes off the wall, pulling Lou with her as she backs towards the bed. Her shirt feels hot flapping at her sides.She pulls it off as she sits, inching towards the headboard. Lou follows, tugging at the scarf around her neck.

‘Leave it,’ Debbie rasps.

Lou quirks an eyebrow at her before obliging. She reaches up, tugs at the scarf, pulling Lou on top of her. Lou’s fingers find the clasp to her bra, unhook it. Her lips follow the straps as they glide down her shoulders, then it’s flung merrily across the room. Debbie snorts at the gesture. She looks back to Lou when she stills. 

She’s sitting back, weight pressed firmly against her hips. Her look is intent, eyes wide and reverent drinking her in.

‘You’re beautiful.’

Her voice is cracked, husky with desire. Debbie shivers. Her fingers trace the hem of her pants, scratch at her bare stomach, teasing her back. 

Lou obliges, bends forward again, cupping her breast, scarf tickling her skin. Her tongue tests texture of her nipple and Lou groans when it stiffens against her, sucking hard as if she can’t help owning it. Debbie’s hand grips the sheets.

It’s too much. She needs…

Lou reads it, in her eyes, in the arch of her body. She moves down, fingers hooking her underwear, shifting to slide it off her legs. She kisses her inner thigh, just above the back of her knee, moves higher. Her kisses are sloppy now, wet. Her hand grips her other knee, spreading her legs a little wider as she settles between them. Debbie watches, eyes transfixed on the muscles rippling in her shoulders and back as she bends to kiss her.

She feels the tremor of a breath first, neither hot nor cold, tingling against her. Then a swipe of her tongue, slow and flat through length of her. Lou moans, reveling in the taste of her. Debbie exhales at the touch, long and sharp, trying to corral the shiver through her body. 

Lou’s mouth is slow, deliberate. She doesn’t change her speed when Debbie tugs at her hair or lifts her hips. Only grips her harder, arms wrapped around her thighs as her tongue dips into her then slides up to twirl circles around her clit. It’s delicious. It’s maddening. Debbie feels the build coiling at the base of her spine, feels she could come any moment, every movement pushing just up to but not over the edge.

She moves down again, slips her tongue inside her, firm, hard thrusts that leave her craving more contact. She cants her hips, searching.

‘Lou.’

Her eyes find her in the dark, sees the plea in them. 

She fixes her with a look, heavy and possessive as she leans down again to find her clit. She presses the length of her tongue against it, coating it in her juices. Debbie bites her lip at the way Lou’s eyes roll in pleasure as she does. She sucks it then, hard, holding it firmly between her lips. Her tongue flicks against it, then again, firm tip swiping against the bud. Debbie feels her hips rise, fights not to throw her head back. She needs to watch. Lou grips her harder, anchoring her to the bed as she ups the rhythm. A few more strokes and she’s gone, biting into her palm as the orgasm ripples through her body. Lou stays with her, dragging it out until she feels her body relax back into the bed. She releases her clit, hums slightly as she licks her. Once, twice, lightly, savoring. 

‘God, you’re delicious.’

The lazy, accented drawl pulls at Debbie. She shakes her head in disbelief, aftershocks still rippling through her body. Her hips jerk unexpectedly when Lou’s tongue swipes at her entrance. Lou smiles, humming at the reaction.

She moves then, shimmying up her body, dropping kisses to her hip, her ribs, her breast. She nestles against her side, nose buried in her neck. Her hands stray along her thigh, trailing up, fluttering over her hips.

‘I think,’ her words are a slow breath against her ear as her hand dips down again, slipping through damp curls, ‘you’re not quite done.’

She slides two fingers inside her, deep. She’s soaking, wet and pliant, pussy sucking her fingers in to the knuckles. 

Debbie moans, digging her nails into her shoulder. 

Lou exhales sharply at the reaction, breath quivering against her ear. 

‘Fuck, Deb, you’re so…’

She slides her fingers out, thrusts again. Debbie’s whole body moves with her, around her, under her. She curls her fingers, tries to let Debbie set the pace, but it’s hard when each of her breaths is a whimpery moan and she’s dangerously close to coming herself. Debbie wraps her leg around her, heel pressing into her ass. It gives her just that little extra reach and when Debbie moans ‘fuck’ she has to bite her shoulder to keep control.

That’s what does it. 

The second orgasm rips through her, stronger than the first. Lou shifts up and watches her, head thrown back, neck taut with pleasure as she grips the release into Lou’s body.

They lie still afterwards, listening to the thrum of each other’s hearts. Lou gently slips her fingers out of her, draws patterns on side.

Debbie turns to her, studies her face. She smiles. It’s like the thousands of smiles she’s given her over the years only a little fuller, a little freer. Lou leans in, tastes the smile from her lips. It tastes of passion and promise and all she’s ever wanted. 

Debbie leans back, let’s out a sigh, rich and content and delicious. Lou grins into her shoulder.

‘Question,’ Debbie says, not opening her eyes, ‘why are you still wearing pants?’

‘Well, I was a little too busy to take them off.’

‘Mmh,’ she hums in response, ‘can’t have that.’

And with a burst that catches Lou unawares, she flips them over and straddles her.

\-------

It’s early, well, before 10 anyway given the strength of the rays through the curtains. Too early to get up, in any case. She rolls over, seeking her lover’s body in the sheets. Her arm finds nothing but bed and after a few exploratory pats, she opens her eyes and lifts her head for visual confirmation: Lou is gone. 

Has she misjudged the time? In 14 years Lou was only ever up before her once, and that was because she hadn’t really been to bed yet. She squints at the bedside table, feeling for her watch. 

8:37. 

_Odd._

She lies back in Lou’s bed and let’s the feel of it envelop her. Her thoughts drift back to last night. And the night before that. And every night this week and stolen moments between. They laughed and played and talked and fucked and made love and everything in between, while the diamonds were sold and Claude Becker got his dues, a mysterious folder on the prosecutor's desk likely increasing the sentence to 20 years. 

It was strange, getting to know her like this after knowing her so well, like discovering your favorite book had hundreds more pages. She loved it. The smell and taste and feel of her, the secret sounds she could coax from her body, the unknown pleasures she was only discovering she herself could feel. 

Her stomach growls, interrupting her thoughts. 

She gets up, wraps herself in Lou’s kimono and steps into the hall. 

Amita doesn’t bat an eyelash at seeing her emerge from Lou’s room, hair tousled and feet bare. None of them had, not from the first morning. Tammy'd said something about hearing noises from the past in the night but Lou’s scowl had discouraged any further comments. 

The house is quieter. They’d drifted off now, one by one, gone to commence their sparkling futures. Amita’s staying until she can sign a lease for her own place, refusing to go back to her parent’s even for a night and Rose left only this morning after sorting out her bills with the IRS. And Lou of course, lord of the castle, playing the gracious host in her offhanded way. 

Amita pours her a cup of coffee and they sit. 

‘Have you seen Lou today?’

‘Mmh, she was here early. I thought it was just to see Rose off but she had her motorcycle gear and a bag. Taking her new baby for a spin, I’ll bet.’

Debbie feels a chill.

The night before the heist they’d spoken of what they’d do with their winnings, a tactic to keep morale up. Lou’s air of nonchalance had given way to excitement as she spoke of riding along the California coast--just her, her bike, and the open air. Her eyes had sparkled.

_A bag?_

Lou never carried bags unless she had to. Had she left?

It wouldn’t be permanent, of course. She’d wander back. Hell, Debbie couldn’t even fault her for the lack of invitation. Parole meant New York. There’s no way she’d risk prison again for something as dumb as a holiday. 

Still. 

Maybe she thought it’d be easier, slipping away. _See you when I see you._

They hadn’t talked about anything as conventional as fidelity and future. They’d just sort of fallen into their new arrangement like they did everything else, smoothly, casually. Why say things they both already knew. 

_Did they really know the same things?_

She pulled out her phone, thought of texting, decided against it. She wouldn’t answer if she was riding anyways and the last thing she wanted was the niggling of an unanswered text. 

Amita invited her to witness her grand step into home ownership and she accepted.

\-------

4:53. 

The house is quiet. No sign of Lou. Riding boots still gone, kitchen in the same state they’d left it. She pushes open the door to the bedroom. The kimono is still flung over the chair where it landed this morning. Bed unmade. 

_She hasn’t been back._

Debbie sighs. 

It feels like a loss, ache sharp and loud under her ribs, but she knows it’s not like last time. Lou may follow the wind, but they’ve always been tethered, now more than ever, and she’ll find her way back. The beauty of their connection is that they don’t pull or smother each other, but they're always there.

She goes down to the bar and begins preparing her brother’s favorite drink.

\-------

The martini is smooth, perfect in the cool burial room. A gentlewoman’s drink. She feels proud, nostalgic, sad. Imagines his face as he saw her plan unfold, incredulity, excitement, envy. 

‘You woulda loved it,’ she says quietly. 

‘He woulda. Though he wouldn’t have rested a minute in trying to come up with something better.’

She smiles at the voice, a surge of warmth rushing through her. 

‘I thought you’d left.’

‘And leave a parolee unsupervised in a decadent city like New York?’ she moves into the room. ‘Before long you’d be associating with known criminals.’

‘As opposed to?’ she challenges, quirking an eyebrow. 

‘Alleged criminals. Huge difference.’

She smiles again. 

‘I got you something.’

She rummages in the bag, pulls out a supple leather jacket. 

Debbie slips off her blazer and tries it on. It fits exquisitely, perfectly tailored to her body.

‘How did you…?’

‘No, I didn’t measure you as you slept or anything else equally disturbing. Just took in a couple of jackets and had them make it to match.’

_The bag._

Debbie smiles, zips it up.

‘You know I’m still not driving one of those things.’

‘Like I’d let you. I have far too much respect for them for such a descration.’

She steps forward, ties Debbie’s tie in a bow that’ll withstand the wind, fingers lingering on her neck. 

‘So, coast or fields?’

Lou smirks. ‘Don’t you know by now? Always Ocean.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. It's been fun.
> 
> I'm @i-like-heda over on tumblr if you wanna keep swooning over these characters.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Here's a snippet of part two.
> 
>  
> 
> _There’s a knock on her door that evening. Lou enters without waiting for an answer._
> 
>  
> 
> _‘Here.’_
> 
>  
> 
> _She holds out an unmarked folder. Debbie takes it curiously. Inside are pictures, receipts, locations, all meticulously catalogued and dated. Claude features in most of them._
> 
>  
> 
> _‘What’s this?’_
> 
>  
> 
> _‘Everything I have on Claude. Enough to put him away for at least 10 years.’_
> 
>  
> 
> _Debbie looks up, confused._
> 
>  
> 
> _‘You don’t think I’d let him just walk away after what he did to you, did you? I only waited cause I thought you’d want to do it yourself. We don’t have to do it in the job.’_
> 
>  
> 
> __


End file.
